"Little master, please eat!"
"Little master, please eat!"
Rock's mouth had barely stopped moving since he walked into the headmaster's office. Dobby kept slicing steak, roast, and every other dish into perfect bites and sliding them onto his plate like he was personally responsible for keeping Rock alive.
"Thank you, Dobby, but this is too much. I really can't eat another bite."
Rock finally waved him off. One more plate and he was going to explode, not digest.
"Oh! Of course, little master! I'll make you a digestion potion right now!"
Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished.
"House-elves don't usually show this kind of affection for a young wizard," Dumbledore said mildly.
They respected students. They didn't hover like this.
"They're good people," Rock answered quietly.
If Dobby hadn't shown up when he did, things could have gone very badly last night.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed."
Rock studied him, waiting. He could feel the conversation shifting.
"About the Philosopher's Stone, little Rock."
Dumbledore's eyes met his.
Rock blinked, playing dumb. The task was done. Whoever ended up with the Stone kept it. That was the deal.
Dumbledore looked faintly amused.
"Nicolas Flamel knows what happened. He knows the Stone spent the year with you." He gestured toward Fawkes. "He wrote. He wants to meet you before the end of his life. In exchange for the Stone, he's willing to teach you everything he knows about alchemy."
Fawkes glided over and dropped the letter into Rock's hands.
Rock opened it without a word. The office went quiet. A small vial of digestion potion appeared on the desk beside him.
He let out a slow breath after he finished reading.
Flamel was giving him the Stone. No strings on the gift itself. The only condition was time—Rock had to stay with him for a while and learn.
"Publicly, we'll still say the Stone was destroyed," Dumbledore said. "That decision belongs to both of us."
Rock stood and gave a small, formal nod. "I'll keep it safe. I won't use it to harm anyone."
It sounded thin, but he had the Stone now. He owed them at least that much.
"I know you won't, little Rock." Dumbledore's voice softened. "There are things in this world worth more than wealth or even life. I've seen what you're capable of."
He paused, the warning clear in his eyes.
"The Stone is powerful. But some problems can't be solved by any object. Remember that."
"Yes, Headmaster."
Rock understood. To most wizards the Stone was everything. To Flamel and Dumbledore it was just a tool they had already outgrown.
Wealth didn't tempt him. Time was the only thing that mattered, and even that he could only offer, not force.
"Quirrell asked me to thank you before he left for St. Mungo's," Dumbledore added.
Rock looked up. "How is he?"
"Not well. Voldemort spent the year feeding on his life force. We're sending him to St. Mungo's to give him whatever comfort is left." Dumbledore shook his head. "The Parasitic Stabilizer and the fact that he never got the unicorn blood helped. The curse didn't sink as deep as it could have. He still has a chance."
Parasitic Stabilizer.
Rock's mind clicked. That was why Quirrell had taken the Mandrake.
"Your compound spell saved a man who made the wrong choices," Dumbledore continued. "Flitwick confirmed it. You did well. But I've removed the book on variations from the Restricted Section. No one will read it again."
He looked older for a moment.
"Grimold was brilliant too. One spell pushed too far and he disappeared. Learn what the books can teach you, little Rock. But don't reach for the spells at the back until you're truly ready to control them."
Rock exhaled. He had been braced for a ban. Instead he got a warning and permission to keep going—carefully.
"Thank you."
Dumbledore pushed the digestion potion toward him. "Drink that. In a few days you'll be heading home for the holidays."
Rock downed it, stood, and left.
The portraits started whispering the second the door closed. Most of them thought giving the Stone to a first-year was reckless. A couple of the louder former headmasters were already working themselves into a proper rage.
Dumbledore leaned back, closed his eyes, and the noise stopped instantly.
At Hogwarts the current headmaster's word was final. Even the dead knew it.
Word of Quirrell's condition spread through the castle, but Rock's name stayed out of it. Harry and the others kept quiet. So did Dumbledore.
Then the exam results came out.
Hermione felt the weight of them immediately.
Rock had tied her for first in their year with room to spare. She told herself it was only because Outstanding was the highest mark possible. But McGonagall had praised Rock's Transfiguration in front of everyone. He could cast compound charms she still couldn't manage. And in Potions he was one of the very few students outside a handful of Slytherins to earn an Outstanding.
Hermione stared at the posted list and felt the familiar, uncomfortable pressure settle in her chest.
Rock had beaten her at her own game without even trying to.